


Ask Nicely

by summerofspock



Series: Accumulation (The Life and Times of Crowley's Facial Hair) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Facials, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Make up sex, Making Up, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Scene: St James's Park 1862 (Good Omens), Wet & Messy, but in an emotionally messy way, crowley's sideburns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Had Aziraphale been a fool? He’d been certain he and Crowley had only been sleeping with each other. Aziraphale had turned down so many suitors in favor of the demon. They couldn’t talk about their feelings but Aziraphale had been certain it was mutually understood.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Accumulation (The Life and Times of Crowley's Facial Hair) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742881
Comments: 72
Kudos: 563
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library, Hot Omens





	Ask Nicely

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paint Strokes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128386) by [squiddz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz/pseuds/squiddz). 



> no excuse for this except that i wanted aziraphale to come in crowley's facial hair and the go-events discord enabled me
> 
> namely, squiddz who wrote the brilliant ficlet that inspired this

1862

There was a knock at the bookshop door and Aziraphale didn’t want to hear it. There was only one person who would be knocking at the door at ten pm and he didn’t want to see him.

Not after the stunt he pulled in the park that afternoon. Plenty of people to fraternize with. What did that mean?

Was Crowley— 

Aziraphale’s heart twisted at the thought. Had he been a fool? He’d been certain he and Crowley had only been sleeping with each other. Aziraphale had turned down so many suitors in favor of the demon. They couldn’t _talk_ about their feelings but Aziraphale had been so certain it was mutually understood. 

But perhaps their liaisons meant nothing to Crowley, perhaps Crowley was gallivanting throughout London shagging humans left and right. Aziraphale’s stomach turned and his eyes prickled. 

No. It was awful enough to think that Crowley wanted this insurance. This thing that could kill him.

The knock sounded again.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley demanded, voice half-growl, half-yell. “Let me in!”

Aziraphale cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. If Crowley wouldn’t leave, then Aziraphale would make him.

Striding across the room, Aziraphale threw open the door, a scathing retort on his tongue, but before he could speak Crowley was pushing inside, tossing his hat away and taking Aziraphale’s face in his hands, kissing him deeply as he kicked the door shut.

“I didn’t mean it,” Crowley said against his mouth, incisors catching on Aziraphale’s bottom lip.

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. “Wha—”

“There’s no one else,” Crowley said and Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes but he could hear desperation in his voice. “Tell me there isn’t for you either. You said...”

Aziraphale’s voice caught, words stuck on his tongue.

Crowley growled, fisted his hands in his lapels, and shoved him back until he hit a bookshelf. It shook behind him, a penny dreadful dropping to the ground by his side.

“All those poets and writers and _the greatest minds of the century_ ,” Crowley said in a mocking sing-song. When Aziraphale said nothing, he couldn’t find his words, Crowley bared his teeth. “Did you fuck them? Is that who you _fraternize_ with?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak just as a rumble started in Crowley’s chest and he released him, stepping away and tearing off his glasses. He let out a subdued yell and threw his glasses across the room.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, hands going into his hair. “I’ve just—the holy water...I had a bad performance review. Beelzebub mentioned something. I was worried that they—that they knew about us. I shouldn’t take that out on you. You don’t owe me anything. This isn’t...”

Aziraphale’s heart dropped and he raised his hands, approaching Crowley like a wounded animal. “I’m here, Crowley. If anything happens, I’ll help you.”

Crowley whipped around to look at him and Aziraphale had to kiss him. He hated the look in his eyes, vulnerable and terrified. 

Crowley slid his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth, tracing the shape of his teeth and making Aziraphale’s knees buckle. How long had it been? Since the bookshop opening. They’d both been so busy and hadn’t been able to be alone together. Was that why Crowley thought he’d been seeing other people? He could never.

Before Aziraphale could settle into the easy rhythm of their kisses, Crowley fell to his knees. He began to open Aziraphale’s trousers with unsteady hands. “Fuck my mouth. I need it.”

Aziraphale groaned as Crowley’s fingers brushed over his cock. He hadn’t been ready for this. He hadn’t expected it. He’d been ready to fight. To rail and yell. To force Crowley to leave. It could have been another century where they didn’t see each other. Like all those centuries before the Arrangement. Before they kissed for the first time over too much wine and discovered how lovely it was to be in a human body. To be together.

“Hard as you want. Fuck me,” Crowley said, drawing Aziraphale out of his trousers and letting him settle heavy on his infernally hot tongue.

A breath punched out of Aziraphale as his spine curled with the unexpected pleasure of it.

Crowley withdrew, a string of spit connecting Aziraphale’s cock to his lips. He looked up and took one of Aziraphale’s hands and put onto his head. Aziraphale formed a fist in his hair without really thinking about it and Crowley keened, opening his mouth wide.

Aziraphale hesitated before taking himself in hand, pressing the head of his cock between Crowley’s slick lips, relishing the way it scraped over his soft palate. Crowley moaned like it was his own cock being sucked. His eyes fluttered shut and he gripped the back of Aziraphale’s thighs, urging him forward.

And so Aziraphale went, pressing deep until he bumped the back of Crowley’s throat but it didn’t seem to be enough because Crowley’s hands sank into the meat of his arse and he pressed him further, deeper until Crowley was gagging around him. Aziraphale withdrew immediately, gasping at the slight scrape of teeth.

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley stared up at him, cheeks already flushed. “Harder. Please.”

Aziraphale had always had trouble resisting when Crowley asked nicely.

He fisted one hand in Crowley’s hair and curled the other around one of his sideburns, holding his face in place as he pushed back in. Crowley moaned in approval as Aziraphale sank all the way in, until his balls were pressed against Crowley’s slick lower lip, until he could feel the thick contractions of his throat as he gagged. 

Pleasure sparked down his back, winding with something darker, more possessive as he thrust shallowly into Crowley’s mouth. He watched the obscene slide of his cock between Crowley’s stretched lips, pulled all the way back to tease at them with his cockhead as drool slipped down Crowley’s chin just before pressing back into that wet heat. 

Crowley clutched at his hips and closed his eyes when Aziraphale tightened his grip in his hair. That possessive thing surged even higher and Aziraphale bit out, “You won’t do this with anyone but me.”

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale began to fuck his mouth deeper. He was gasping as saliva dripped onto Aziraphale’s shoes. Tears had begun to form in his eyes, streaking over his cheeks as he tried to breathe, but he gave no indication for Aziraphale to stop, only clutched his hips tighter.

The coiling pleasure in Aziraphale’s spine swirled low and hot. He wanted to last longer. He wanted to make a mess of the demon at his feet, prove that he was _his_. 

As he teetered on the edge of orgasm, Aziraphale withdrew with a loud groan, coming onto Crowley’s lips, his cheeks, his sideburns. It mingled with his spit and dripped down his chin, ruining his black waistcoat and gray cravat. 

Crowley dropped onto his hands, chest heaving to take in oxygen as come dribbled from his face and onto his splayed fingers. 

With post-orgasmic clarity, Aziraphale realized he’d done what Crowley asked but never answered his question. He summoned a wet cloth and dropped to his knees, tipping Crowley’s chin up so he could wipe his mouth.

Crowley searched his face with glassy eyes. _Well-fucked_ , Aziraphale’s mind supplied. _He looks well-fucked_.

“You know that I…” Aziraphale began, hesitating slightly. He couldn’t say the actual words. It would be too much. For both of them. “I’ve never fraternized with anyone else. I don’t want to.”

Crowley’s eyes searched his face and he swallowed hard. “Me neither, angel. Never have. Never will.”

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s jaw and kissed him, ignoring the come in his sideburns as it smeared under his fingers. He felt another flare of possessiveness in his gut.

Crowley was his. And he was Crowley’s. For now, that was the best they could do.

**Author's Note:**

> there is a not slim chance im going to write more "aziraphale comes in crowley's terrible facial hair through the ages" ficlets


End file.
